


Out of Time-A Halloween Love Story

by DiniaSteel



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Metaphysical & Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiniaSteel/pseuds/DiniaSteel
Summary: Time can be a funny. Sometimes it’s cruel. Sometimes it’s not.  What happens when it’s got Bella Swan and Edward Cullen in its webs.  A/U B&E All Human.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not claim the characters to be mine, only how I used them in my storyline. This is an original work of fiction and in no way portrays anyone alive or not.
> 
> Please remember this is a fictional story, please suspend your disbelief and just enjoy. Thanks!

~o0o~

Out of Time-A Halloween Love Story

 

It’s Halloween--again.

I pull the sheer curtains to one side as I watch the sun slowly peek past the horizon, leaving wisps of dark clouds and fingers of orange, pink, and gray. It’s nature's artistry, and I enjoy viewing it from my sturdy rocker.

Since the weather is bitter cold, I keep my prized rocking chair by the front door, protecting it from the elements that will rot the wood. I carefully drag it to the side of the stairs and go back into the house to collect the huge bowl of Snickers, Mars bars, chocolate Kisses, and assorted lollipops waiting there. Once I am fitted in my chair with the bowl in my lap, I await the running feet of ghosts, goblins, princesses, and superheroes.

With a thick, dark, cable sweater and matching shawl and hat, the cold doesn’t seep into my older bones. I rock and take in all the sights I miss throughout the year, and once again, memorize my surroundings.

  
The old oak tree that challenges my age sits on the side of the house with its thinning top branches scratching at my bedroom windows at night and creaking along with the howling of the wind. In the summer, the rope swings host the neighborhood children in squeals of flight and fun. I can watch for hours as they climb the tree, play on the swings and allow me to read to them of classic pirates and mermaids. They sample freshly made cookies and cold, sweet lemonade. The sounds of their laughter will remain in my mind days later when there is only silence.

And those days I can’t bake or easily walk, I sit by my window and smile at them, sitting back in my chair and rocking ever so carefully.

Each year, the anxiety for the chance that will bring to me to some contentment, that perfect image of my dreams that shows itself clearly every Halloween, and the only reason my heart skips a beat for the harvest holiday, my special time for _him_. It brings me back to a time of teaching art and carved pumpkins lit by candles to illuminate their horrific or comical faces.

Now, it's my time of waiting and hoping.

Like an old sentinel who weathers the storm, I wait for the neighborhood children who muster the courage to walk up my front porch stairs and greet the wrinkled, old woman who lives in the house at the end of the dark cul-de-sac--the old woman who lives alone in the dark that depicts the imagery of a cantankerous, wicked witch ready to steal you away and make bread from your bones. Reminded of Grimm's Fairy Tales, I giggle to myself, hearing a faint cackle.

I wait for the neighborhood children who are brave enough to come up to the old woman who now looks all wrinkled, like an archetype of the classic witch pictures, to ask for Halloween treats. I no longer bother to put out decorations or to dress in a costume. All I do is wait and pray I will once again see _him_. I wait because I know he’ll be among them. He’ll be there with his tousled copper hair, huge, bright, emerald green eyes, and beautiful, mischievous smile.  
  
I wonder how old he’ll appear this year. Last year, he had seemed to be old enough for high school.

  
But I sigh, and wait for my encounter, praying I will see him again. I wait because deep, down inside, I know he’ll be among them--his copper mane flying amuck in different directions on his head, those bright, emerald eyes crinkling from his smile and mischievous, crooked grin sometimes baiting me.  
  
I again wonder of his age. Will he show himself still a teenager or a mature college man--maybe with a beard of ginger or maybe a five-day scruff? Though I can’t understand the allure of the scruff. I have always had a very tender complexion and being kissed by a man with a five o’clock shadow holds no appeal for me. The anticipation jolts my heart in lightning speed, and I find myself looking from side to side.

A light mist of speckled-colored raindrops reflecting the light from the street lamp begin to form circular patterns of an opening door to a magic portal.

I sense a change.

From the house two doors down, four young men exit and approach a parked car near the front of my driveway. The boys chatter and turn to look at me and all chant, “Candy.”

Two of the boys look at me for permission, and I extend the bowl towards them, and they make their way up my driveway. Both wrap a massive hand into the bowl filled with chocolate delights and sweet treats. The third one nods his head and does the same. But the fourth, the one with the watchful, crooked grin and gentle manner, stands before me taking only two pieces and taking in my stare.

My eyes speak to him of remembrance, and I whisper, “You were a little boy last year, and the years before as I’ve watched you age.” I huff. “Maybe some day we will match in our timeline.”

He looks at me with a knowing smirk.

I muster the courage to once again ask his name. “What’s your name, young man?”

His beautiful smile flashes brighter, melting this old woman’s heart. “Edward Cullen, Miss Bella. You don’t remember me? I see you every year at Halloween. It’s good to see you again.”

Like a wisp of smoke on the wind that rises within the speckled-colored raindrops, Edward fades from sight, taking another piece of my heart and I want more.

Slowly standing, I straighten myself erect, holding an empty bowl, when did it become empty? When the four boys left, it was still half full. Hadn’t it been? Then, dragging my chair through the door and turning off the porch light, I turn to look out the window, and the vision of him gone, for now, knowing I will probably only see him now only in my dreams until next Halloween.

I shake my head not understanding why. I huff and mumble to myself, “This has been going since I moved into this neighborhood over twenty years ago when I was hired as the new art teacher at Forks High.”

I lock the front door and go into my kitchen, placing the bowl in the sink and looking around. I huff again. “I came to Forks for a new life.”

Tears flow in rivulets down my cheeks.

“Mom and Dad were killed in a house fire; I ended a three-year relationship, and didn’t feel like I belonged there anymore. I had nowhere to really go.”

I sit at the kitchen island with my head in my hands quietly sobbing. “I just don’t understand. I had many schools to choose from, but Forks was like a magnet that drew me to it despite the lower pay, but it just felt so right.”

I wipe my eyes. “I came here leaving nothing behind me--no lover, no family, and no friends. I was totally alone and comfortable that no one could hurt me here.”

And I nod remembering...

_The only word that comes to mind about Forks is green as I drive past the population sign of 3,688--well, now, it’s 3,689._

_I settle into my new, sweet life of small home and school, no romantic relationships, just casual acquaintances with the other teachers, and all is well._

_Then, in regular intervals, I begin to see him._

_My first encounter with him is the saunter of a confident boy who walks into my classroom only to disappear into the supply closet. Then, later in the day, I discover a rather well-rendered pencil drawing of myself with the artist’s initials at the bottom: E.C._

_Then, I begin to see him throughout the hallways and in the parking lot. I truly accept my dream and impatiently await the next time._

_The drawing is in my bedroom. It has hung there now for more years than I really want to think about, framed and on my wall._

_Aw, and the gifts of one yellow rose. Occasionally, I would discover on my welcome mat the one perfect yellow rose with a white ribbon carefully tied in a bow and a tiny scrap of paper to it with the initials of E.C._

I am brought back to myself leaning on the kitchen’s breakfast bar by the sounds of the tea kettle whistling.

The memory of my favorite flower has been hidden within my mind--no one else’s knowledge, just my secret within my sad heart. I turn off the flames under the kettle and leave the kitchen.

“I never quite knew how he knew.” I shake my head and wipe under my eyes with the palms of my hands.

Every flower now has a place of distinction in a scrapbook, saved, pressed and dated. I rarely look at them anymore because they make me sad.

I miss him. Now, every time I leave my house for work or shopping, I keep my eyes open, just in case, hoping for a brief glimpse, but I always know I’ll see him close to and on Halloween for sure.

I declare, “I’m not a cougar.” I smack my hand on the railing on the stairs with frustration and begin to my slow climb. “I believe that’s what it’s called when a much older woman wants a much younger man. No, I had dreams about him for years before I ever saw him--a beautiful man whose smile made my world turn all warm, sunny, and wonderful like no other man had ever been able to do before. It’s as though we are meant to be together but are out of time synchronization with each other. There’s nothing I can do but wait and see what happens next.”

Exhausted, I sit down in my wingback chair in my bedroom, running my hands through my hair. “When I’d finally figured out what appeared to be happening--a sort of a haunting--I began to search for him at other holidays. However, it seems that only at school and Halloween would I be able to see him. I spent all my holidays alone watching movies. At one point, I decided to volunteer at the children’s ward of the Forks hospital. I only did that one year. I didn’t see Edward there and knew that I wouldn’t.”

I huff, again. “So, my years crawled by, waiting.”

***

On the day before the Halloween, I am admitted to the hospital due to a mild heart attack. The cardiologist assures me it is something that is normal for a woman in my age range. I am sad that I won’t see Edward. I want to know how old he’ll be. I am Lying in the hospital bed with all the monitors connected to me beeping, lulling me into sleeping, when I heard a gentle voice.

“Miss Bella? Are you awake? I can’t come in if you’re not awake.”

It’s Edward.

I feel someone clasping my hand. I feel a calming sensation coming over me and feel myself becoming more awake, even though I think I am having another dream, but I’ve never experienced one where he’s touched me. I open my eyes and there is Edward smiling down at me. He appears to be about 20 now. He’s lost most of his baby fat, and his beautiful, green eyes are full of concern for me.

“You have to get better, Miss Bella. The time’s just not right now. You need to fight so we can continue to see each other. Get better soon.”

I start to say something, but he puts a finger over my lips. The sensation of his finger touching my lips causes a mild buzzing sensation. “Please don’t say anything. I’ve got to go. I can’t stay any longer. I’ll see you next Halloween.” And he then is gone. I think it is all a dream until the charge nurse comes in to check my monitor's’ readings.

“I saw that young man come into your room. Was he one of your students? He’s quite a looker isn’t he?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer. She makes her notations on the chart and leaves.

It is then I see something out of the corner of my eye. There is a single yellow rose in a very plain glass vase sitting on the bedside table. I buzz the nurse’s station and wait for her to come back, which only takes a few minutes.

“Yes, Miss Bella?”

“Do you know who left this rose for me?”

“Why that young man that was just here. Didn’t you see him?”

“I thought I’d dreamed it,” I reply quietly. “Thank you.”

I am released from the hospital a few days later. I am told that a nurse will come once a day for the next week or so just to make sure I am doing alright since I don’t have any family members who can look in on me. I slowly make up the couch so I won’t have to climb the stairs. This gives me access to the kitchen and bathroom. The nurse who comes to check on me turns out to be one of my students. We always chat while she takes my vitals. She tells me about her life now and the young man she is going to marry in the spring and sometimes about the other students who I had taught if she’d seen them somewhere in town. I never ask about Edward. I keep him secret, close in my heart and soul.

About six months later, I once again dream of Edward Cullen. I’ve begun to think he’s only been in my imagination, but then I remember there was the scrapbook filled with dried, brittle, yellow roses tied with yellowing white ribbons. He is older, college age I’d guess. This dream is a montage of scenes: playing football; dancing with a beautiful redheaded girl in a wedding dress; him holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket and then one wrapped in a blue. I know this will be the Edward next Halloween.

When Halloween rolls around once more, I’m in my customary seat with the bowl full of candy.

Waiting.

Then, he’s there with two small children who are in full costume, carrying plastic pumpkins, the handles hooked over their tiny arms with flashlights clutched in their tiny hands. It appears they think they are too big to hold their daddy’s hands. However, before they climb onto my porch, they look up at their father for his permission, which he gives with a nod.

“Twick or Tweet!” they both said in unison.

“Well, hello, and who are you?” I ask smiling.

“I’m Alice,” the smaller, but I know her to be the elder of the two, says proudly. She is dressed in a gossamer gown with glistening wings, obviously a fairy. It is then I notice that her flashlight is in the shape of a fairy wand with the bright light shining from its tip. She even has glitter in her hair. Seeing her makes my heart ache for the children I will never have with Edward.

“I’m Emmett,” responds the much larger, but younger boy. His costume is that of the character Bamm-Bamm from the Flintstones, complete with a plastic club which is slung over his shoulder. It is from this that his pumpkin is hanging. “You’re Miss Bella. My daddy’s told us all about you.”

I laugh. “Oh, he has?” I look up at Edward and see him wink at me. Warmth fills my soul with that wink. “Good things I hope.”

“Yep, he says you have the bestest candy in the neighborhood!” Alice says.

“Well, he should know. He’s been coming to my front porch every Halloween for most of his life now.”

Edward’s children are beautiful. I can see that Alice has green eyes and Emmett’s are blue and he has big freckles across the bridge of his nose. I think, _their skin coloring must come from their mother_. Both had Edward’s hair color, but their facial features are softer, rounder, where Edward’s are more square.

“That’s what Daddy said,” Alice says quietly.

I offer the bowl full of candy to each of the children in turn and look up at Edward who nods, smiling indulgently down at his two beautiful children. Both take just two pieces each and put them into their pumpkins. Before they can leave, I offer the bowl to Edward. He smiles and takes only two pieces--just as he’s always done, and then they’re gone. Their forms being gently blown away in the night’s chilly air.

Sobbing quietly, I stand and go into my house, dragging my rocking chair with me and then I head to bed to wait for the dreams and next year’s Halloween.

There are no dreams that night, nor the next, or the next weeks. I begin to again believe I am just a crazy old woman.

Six months or so later, after I’ve retrieved the morning paper, I take it to my breakfast bar where my morning tea is steeping. I lay the unopened paper down and remove the tea bag, add sugar and a little half and half to the drink, and then settling down, I open it. The front page headline screams, _Attorney Edward Cullen Killed Last Night in a Head-on Collision with a Drunk Driver_. The picture displayed is of a man who looks to be about my current age, not the young beautiful man I’ve come to look for. Through tears, I read the rest. _“Services will be held Wednesday at the Forks Funeral Home at 3:00 p.m. The public is welcome."_

The paper falls from my fingers to a heap on the floor. I can’t see anything through the tears that blur my eyes. I just sit and stare out the kitchen windows, seeing nothing for I don’t know how long. I can only feel the aching in my chest.

I move through my house like a ghost for the rest of that day and sleep very little that night or the next.

I hurt in my body and my soul. Edward is dead. I will no longer see his beautiful young face and smiling eyes. I don’t know what I will do now. I can only wait until Wednesday to see with my own old eyes him lying in his casket.

Wednesday finally arrives.

I drive myself to the funeral parlor and park under the only tree in the lot. I walk slowly into the building and find my way to the chapel, sign the guest book, and look for a seat.

I find myself sitting in one of the uncomfortable folding chairs that always seem to be used in these services. In what seems like hours later, everyone has spoken about what a wonderful man Edward Cullen was. I find all I’m doing is staring at the large picture of him. I sob as silently as I can, wishing that I’d not come here after all.

Finally, it’s over.

I grab my cane and follow the crowd out into the parking lot with tears still running down my cheeks and dripping onto my breasts. I am about halfway to my car when through my watery eyes, I see a young man standing next to my car.

I can’t believe my eyes.

It’s Edward Cullen, a young man again.

I stop, unable to move further. I’m frozen to the spot.

He walks up to me. “Bella! You’ve kept me waiting a long time. Come on. It’s time to go home.”

I stammer unintelligible words. “Wha--what?”

“We can be together now. We’ve caught up with each other. We won’t be apart again.” Then, he kisses me, full on the lips, holding me hard against him.

I drop my cane and throw my arms around his neck before returning his kiss.

We separate as he takes my hand.

I look down at our joined hands and see it’s my hand, but not my hand. It’s a much, much younger woman’s hand. I stop walking. “Edward? I’m young again?”

“Bella, you’re just the right age. Now, come on. Our friends are waiting for us. We’ve been keeping them waiting far too long.”

We walk on a couple of steps more, and I look over my shoulder to see my older self laying crumpled on the parking lot blacktop. People are running and kneeling beside me, checking to see if I’m hurt.

I hear one man say, “She’s gone.”

Another person says, “She had a long, full life.”

Another says, “She’ll be missed.”

And yet another says, “She was loved by the whole town.”

I never knew that.

It is then I see an older Alice and Emmett looking down at the older me on the ground and then at me hand in hand with their younger father. Their mouths open then close. Turning to each other they both say, “Did you see that?” When they look back, they find the space we occupied empty.

**Edward**

It’s Halloween--again. The weather has gotten colder, and I suspect it’ll be snowing Halloween night--not good. That doesn’t mean it’ll stop the neighborhood children from doing their Trick or Treat exploits. I remember as a young boy doing the same.

“ _Come on, Cullen! Could you be any slower?” My best friend, Jasper, yells at the kitchen door._

_I hurriedly kiss the top of my mother’s head as she chides me to be careful, but I don’t even hear the rest as I’m out the door, and Jasper and I are off to collect my other best friend, Emmett, and a few of our other friends._

_We are rushing, so I don’t take the time to really look at the world around us, which is turning from greens into dark and light golds and the wonderful shades of orange. I do, however, smell the smoke wafting through the air from all the piles of raked leaves through the neighborhoods. I raked a great pile of them myself in our yard and for the neighbors who live next to us._

_I love autumn. The air has a sparkle to it that none of the other seasons seems to have. It also means I get to see_ her _again, even if it’s only in my dreams._

 _We always go to the same houses every year. There’s always been one house that I only dream about going to, Miss Bella’s. My friends never want to go to her neighborhood it’s too far away. So I just have to wait until it’s bedtime and I can dream_.

I’ve never seen her in real life, but I know she exists--somewhere.

I know things about her. I don’t know how I do, but I do.

I know that every Halloween night she sits in a rocking chair on her front porch with a huge bowl of different chocolate candies just waiting for the neighborhood children. She’ll be dressed in a thick, dark, cable knit sweater and has a matching shawl to keep out the cold. Even though she’s old now, she’s still beautiful in my mind.

Everytime I dream of her, she’s a different age. I don’t understand it, but I accept it as the young tend to do. I know that her name is Bella, Miss Bella Swan. I have no idea how I know, but I do. I also know in Italian it means beautiful, and I know when, and if, I finally get to meet her face to face in the waking world, she’ll be just as her name says--beautiful.

Every now and again, in my dreams, I get up the nerve to leave Miss Bella a small gift on her front porch. I know she loves yellow roses. I don’t know how, I just do. I place one perfect yellow rose bud with a white ribbon tied around the stem with a small note attached to the ribbon with a small gold safety pin with just my initials, E.C. written in calligraphy on the note. Somehow, I know, deep down inside, that she’ll understand and love my small token.

Last night I dreamed I was in her art class in high school. Though, I know she’s not a teacher at school. Maybe she’ll be coming to teach here, someday. When she’s busy doing something else, I slip a sketch I’ve been working on of her to show her how beautiful she is to me. I don’t sign my name, but I do put my initials on the bottom. I watch as she finds it in the storage room to see what her reaction will be. Miss Bella saw it and just stared for the longest time with a huge smile on her face. I watched as she lifted it and slipped it into her desk drawer. That smile stayed with me the rest of the dream day.

So goes my life. I walk through the daylight hours waiting for my real life, my dream life, to begin.

There is one night’s Halloween dreaming when I think Miss Bella actually sees me, and I hear her ask me in that beautiful smoky, contralto velvet voice how old I am and what my name is. I can’t see myself, of course, but from the way I have to look up at her, I must be young. I hear myself telling her, “Edward Cullen, Miss Bella. Don’t you remember me? I see you every year at Halloween. It’s good to see you again.” Then, as if she’s smoke blowing on the wind, she’s gone. I think I cry at that loss because when I wake in the morning, my pillow is damp.

Time goes on as time does, one day leading to another. I find myself in college, studying for the bar exam as graduation day arrives. Next, I’m applying to different law firms to get the experience I’ll need to start my own practice. Days lead into weeks; weeks turn into months and months into years.

I meet a very nice and sweet young woman who’s blond haired, with a peaches and cream complexion and huge, blue eyes. She also has freckles across the bridge of her nose. I find those very endearing, and I find her charming. I know it’s time I was married and settled down--even though I am already settled--and have a family.

I embarrass myself the first time I make love to my future wife. I call her Bella. I have to think quickly when I realize what I’ve done.

“It means beautiful, and you are,” I tell her.

She accepts it, and so, from then on, I called her Bella during intimate times. I am never really happy because I know I love Miss Bella, but it is just not meant to be. It seems we are separated by time, never quite aligning in our trips through life, and never destined to meet.

My wife and I have two children. The first is a beautiful little girl we name Alice, and the second, fourteen months later, is a boy we name after my best friend, Emmett, who’s little Emmett's godfather.

When my children are old enough to walk on their own, I take them trick or treating, wishing I could show them to Miss Bella. That Halloween night, I dream that I do just that. I take them to her house and tell them to only take two pieces of candy, which they do. It makes my heart hurt that Bella isn’t their mother. I wake up the next morning with my pillow wet, and I know it is from tears of grief.

Halloween comes again and I know something was wrong. Miss Bella is ill. I think I see her entering my heart doctor’s office. I have a perfect heart, but I worry that perhaps she is having problems. That same night, I dream I visit her in the hospital. I tell her she has to get better, that the time isn’t right yet. She has to keep going just a little longer. I don’t know if she hears me or not, but I leave a single yellow rose bud in a vase on the side table next to the hospital bed.

Time once again passes too quickly. My wife dies unexpectedly of cancer that she never tells me she has. How could she? I am never home. I am always working. I feel the loss of my friend. I feel so guilty that I’ve not loved her the way she deserves, but she has seemed content to me.

My children are in college and come home for the funeral and express to me their unhappiness with my being an absent parent all these years, leaving their mother to take care of everything on her own. This is the last time we ever talk about anything. I guess you could say we are estranged. I am sorry for that, but I have no heart to give them or their mother. It belongs to a woman I’ve never met and probably never will meet.

One night, I am coming home from a conference in Seattle and I find myself thinking again about Miss Bella and how I wish I could meet her in this life. I know we would have the love of the century. It is then I am pulled back from the thoughts. I see the head lights bearing down on me, too fast for me to take action. The last thoughts I have are of my Miss Bella.

When I become conscious again, I find myself standing under a very old oak tree, waiting for someone. I see a huge crowd of people leaving a building and realize I am by a parking lot, and it is Forks Funeral Home. They must be leaving a service.

Who am I waiting for? I see an old woman walking towards me. She stops and stares at me, and then before my eyes, she transforms into my Miss Bella. I can’t believe what I am seeing.

I find myself rushing towards her and envelop her in my arms. She is hesitant at first, but then she returns my affections. I hear myself telling her, “Bella! You’ve kept me waiting a long time. Come on. It’s time to go home.”

She seems confused, “Wha--what?”

I reply to her question with, “We can be together now. We’ve caught up with each other,” and as I say it, I know it’s true. “We won’t be apart ever again.” I can’t contain myself anymore. I kiss her hard on the lips, which she returns with enthusiasm.

Looking over her shoulder, I see an old woman lying on the ground and people are running over to her. I know that the old woman is Bella, but I don’t care. We are together at last, and we will continue to be together until the end of time! We join hands and walk off into the setting sun, knowing that it is the beginning--not the end.

Finally we, Bella Swan and Edward Cullen, have found ourselves in the correct time we should have always been in together.

No more dreams.

No more longing sad dreams.

It’s as it was always meant to have been.

In love and together.

Forever.

 

_(Thank you for reading my Halloween offering)_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wish to thank my beta Enchanted by Twilight who somehow is still with me and my inability to understand how grammar actually works. I also want to thank from the very bottom of my heart, heartfortwilight for some wonderful suggestions and especially Gabby1017 who used her wonderful colors between my story’s lines. Thank you Ladies!


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